


Art and Coffee

by TaeAelin



Series: Nigel and Aiden (Blood and Chocolate) [1]
Category: Blood and Chocolate (2007), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bucharest, Canon-Typical Violence, First Meetings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Bottom Aiden, True Love, Urban Fantasy, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-18 17:06:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5936236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/pseuds/TaeAelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nigel is hired to steal from a gallery, the last thing he expects is to come face to face with the artist. Or be hunted by creatures he thought only existed in legends. Or find himself risking everything for love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hannigrammatic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannigrammatic/gifts).



> Thank you Hanni-g for so much SQUEALING AND FLAILING, LEAPING AND SCREAMING, WAILING AND GIGGLING, HIGH-FIVING AND TRAMPOLINE-JUMPING, and everything else that has made it the very bestest and most fun ever to be in this fandom. You are fucking wonderful!
> 
> The incredibly talented [miraeth](http://miraeth.tumblr.com/) also created the most beautiful and stunning [artwork](http://miraeth.tumblr.com/post/139984819222/fanart-of-art-and-coffee-written-by-the-wonderful) which accompanies this fic, which I couldn't possibly love more if I tried!! Definitely definitely check it out, it is impossibly gorgeous and my very fave!! T_T ♥♥♥♥♥

Nigel’s footsteps skipped wet over the marble floor, tiny flecks of rainwater squashed under heel. He made no effort to stifle the echo. It was a repurposed cathedral. And it was 2am. Anyone still around was probably more afraid of God than the devil. And, since it _was_ 2am… he allowed himself, just for a moment, to imagine he was both.

In truth, in his current state, Nigel looked neither foreboding nor admirable. His shirt was soaked and clinging, hair matted across his eyes, nose running and his shoes squeaking. He looked a lot like someone who had ducked into the sanctuary to escape a thunderstorm, and not at all like someone who had meticulously planned the visit for days in advance, disconnected all surrounding surveillance cameras and paid-off city security to skip the place on their nightly route. With a muttered curse, he begrudgingly accepted that if all his planning fell through, and he _was_ seen… the weather did at least make for a believable story.

But fuck. It was cold.

Picking up his pace, he rounded the frescoed corner, mouth gritted to a snarl. Lightning scratching at the stained glass windows, the set of paintings flared and flickered at the altar in front of him. Nigel stopped in his tracks. From the unhallowed canvases, wolves and demons bared down on him; teeth sallow and dripping. For all his biting cynicism, Nigel felt his throat tighten. Maybe he hadn’t expected them to be so gruesome. Or so beautiful. Squinting at the artist’s signature, Nigel couldn’t make out more than a squiggle. He settled for reading the slightly more legible inscription just beneath.

_Love is everything anyone ever said it is._

Strangely uncomfortable, Nigel slipped his switchblade from his sodden pocket, keeping his glare firmly fixed on the largest of the creatures as he approached. In the dusty darkness, he could have sworn the eyes of a man stared back.

Jaw firmly set, Nigel reached to finger the knots affixing the artwork to the stone wall. He had no time for delicacy and even less for hesitation. Needling at the supporting cords, he didn’t see the stranger approaching until their shoulders collided. The knife clattered to the ground.

“What the-”

“Who are you?” the man interrupted, frantic. He glanced from side to side, wild, hands raked feverishly through his hair. “Are you with them? Do you know them? _Are they here?_ ”

He was shivering. No, shaking. He looked like he’d just run the length of the city, pulse throbbing at his neck, cowering from the ceiling as if afraid of being swooped on from above. He took a few backward steps, choking and coughing as he tried to speak again.

Nigel felt the adrenaline ease from his veins. He hadn’t been caught. He wouldn’t need to fight. The kid was off his face. Nigel had seen it before. All too many times.

“Easy, easy…” making a gesture of showing his hands, Nigel stepped a foot forward, deliberately caving his posture. It had the dual effect of making him look non-threatening, whilst also positioning himself to be able to grab the switchblade off the ground, should the man decide to lunge for it. “No one’s here. Just you and me.”

The man was wiping his nose on his sleeve, hands now wrought to tight fists. Terrified. Agonised. Clearly a bad fucking trip.

“And if anyone does make an appearance…” Nigel gave a careful smile, flinching a hand down to the weapon, retracting it back into his pocket. “…you can be fucking certain they’ll wish they hadn’t.”

If he were honest with himself, if anyone else showed up, he would be out of there just as quickly as the kid had shown up. One hitch in the plan was bad enough. Not that the newcomer would be in a state to recall anything of it anyway. Damn lucky, for his own sake.

“Why? Is that thing silver?” The man trembled a finger toward the pocket where Nigel had stowed the knife, face crumpling to desperation. “Silver. Silver. You know, the metal.”

Nigel frowned, glancing to the paintings behind him. _Not just regular wolves_ , he realised. _Werewolves_. The notion seemed to strike the younger man at exactly the same time, and he sank to his knees. Nigel softened.

“Sure. I mean, yes. It’s silver. Purest fucking silver you can buy.”

On any other occasion, he might have packed it in then and there, walked straight past and not looked back. But, it would be better if it were the other way round. If the kid decided to take a hike, he could finish up and put the incident behind him. On the other hand, if the kid fucking passed out, Nigel didn’t much fancy his voice being recorded on-call to an ambulance.

And now he was sobbing. Grimacing, Nigel found himself crouching beside. He’d seen men lose it on a job before, wired on fear and cocaine. He was better known for kicking them out of speeding vehicles than for trying to calm them down though.

“Hey.” Nigel cleared his throat, trying to get the kid to look at him. It seemed to have the opposite effect. “What’s your name? What… happened tonight?”

Nigel took a breath, listening to the little gulps and sips of air, the shoulders shuddering in front of him. He expected the usual story. A night that started with booze and girls, and ended with CIA agents and flying saucers. Except, in this case, it would probably be shapeshifters and vampires. Well, they were in a cathedral. Kind of figured.

“Aiden,” the kid croaked, finally meeting Nigel’s eyes. “My name is Aiden, and I just killed a man.”

It took a second for the words to seep in. Slowly, Nigel peered at Aiden’s pupils. Red-rimmed and watery, but not dilated. Not unfocused. He wasn’t high at all. As much as the realisation should have ungrounded Nigel, he found himself strangely at ease. Maybe he always had, when it came to thinking on his feet. Or being a hero.

Then again, maybe he did always like to pretend he was things that he wasn’t.

“Okay,” Nigel nodded, his voice low and level. “Does anyone know? And, will anyone find out?”

Sniffling, Aiden gave a jerk of his head to one side. “Not yet. I don’t think so, at least. But yes, his friends will know it was me. And they are very, very dangerous friends.”

The thought made Aiden’s face crumple all over again. This time, Nigel thought he looked angry rather than frightened.

“Did he deserve it?”

Aiden hesitated, rubbing his hands up and down his sleeves. It wasn’t a question he expected. To Nigel, it was the only one that mattered.

“Yeah.” Aiden whispered, something more human lighting beneath the tortured features. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“You did.” Nigel muttered, getting to his feet. He offered his palm down to Aiden. “Sounds like you made the right one.”

As Aiden stared at the outstretched hand, for a moment Nigel thought he was going to scramble and bolt in the opposite direction. Well, that was what he fucking wanted, wasn’t it? The fucking job wasn’t going to finish itself. Instead, Aiden reached upward, unwinding his smaller palm in Nigel’s and holding on.

For a second, Nigel didn’t move. Then he remembered what he was doing, and pulled up. He wasn’t sure he had ever held someone’s hand so fucking gently in his life. But Aiden looked like he’d been hauled around more than enough for one night.

Nigel raised an eyebrow, bracing himself to ask the obvious. “You have a place to go? If these friends of your _friend_ are as dangerous as you say, think they know where you live?”

Aiden’s face fell. Nigel snorted. The kid hadn’t even considered it.

“There’s a couch at mine.” Nigel shrugged his hands back into his pockets. It was as good an invitation as he could manage. Why the fuck he was handing out invitations at all, he didn’t know.

Aiden gave a skittish smile, more grateful than Nigel expected. Then again, he hadn’t seen the state of the couch yet.

“Yeah… okay, yeah.”

“Right.” Nigel paced ahead, determined not to check if Aiden was following him. The painting and the client could stand to wait another twelve hours.

“Um-”

Nigel spun around, Aiden halting mid-stutter just as suddenly.

“I… didn’t catch your name?”

Nigel blinked, trying his best not to look so damn unforgiving when the kid was still on edge. Regrettably, he hadn’t had much practice in anything else. He would have held out his hand, but they’d already covered that.

“Nigel.”

“Alright.” Aiden tucked his mouth up at the corners, no less uneasy himself. “Thank you, then. Nigel.”

Nigel gave a rough nod. Just one. Then he turned heel and strode back into the storm.

-


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, Nigel didn’t see Aiden again for days. The kid had trailed back to his shitty apartment, crashed out on the lounge, and by the time Nigel woke a few hours later, was gone. The only reminder that any of it had happened at all was a neatly washed mug sitting alone on Nigel’s drying-rack, the rest of the plates and cups he owned stacked greasy in the sink.

It was the least of Nigel’s problems. On returning to the cathedral the next morning, he saw the storm had caved-in half the roof, and the place was riddled with workmen round the clock. There was nothing he could do but wait. He set himself at one of the café tables across the road, smoking and muddling whiskey into his espresso. Reconnaissance hadn’t always been his strong suit, but circumstance forced his hand.

“Hi.”

Glancing over the _Romanian Informer_ , Nigel kicked his feet off the chair opposite, narrowing his eyes.

“Thought you’d skipped town,” he grunted, flicking the coffee menu across the table as Aiden took a seat.

“It would probably be better if I did,” Aiden admitted, unhooking a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and fidgeting them open and closed in his lap. “But I can’t. I have a thing to go to.”

Aiden paused as a waiter sidled round. Cappuccino. The man had almost disappeared back inside before Aiden called out, adding a slice of chocolate pecan pie to the order. He threw Nigel a grin, almost guilty.

“The desserts here are fantastic. Shall I make it two?”

“No.”

“I’ll cut you off a bit of mine.”

Eyes darting left and right, Aiden ruffled a hand through his curls, popped on his sunglasses, then leant forward and took a deep breath. Nigel interrupted with a poorly disguised chuckle.

“Darling, if you’re trying to keep a low profile, sit back and relax. If someone’s watching you, better they think you don’t give a flying fuck.”

Aiden scrunched his nose. Nigel guessed it were the tactful equivalent to a roll of his eyes.

“And what if I just don’t like the glare of the sun?”

Nigel _did_ roll his eyes, and made a good show of it too. “Guess that’s just peachy then.”

Aiden smirked, nodding his thanks as the waiter set down the pie and coffee. He made good on his promise of sectioning off a portion. Nigel made no move to touch it, watching incredulous as Aiden poured enough sugar into his drink to make it spill over the brim.

“As I was saying-” Aiden took a slurp from the side, then licked the froth from his upper lip. “I have to go to an art launch at the end of this week. It’s kind of important. After that, I’m out of here.”

Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Nigel made sure not to show his interest, sneering down at the newspaper. “Oh yeah? And where’s that at?”

“Same place we met.” Aiden took a large bite of pie, not waiting to swallow before continuing. “Bucharest Cathedral. It was repurposed earlier this year as an exhibition space. I’m lucky to have anything shown there at all, to be honest. Most people will just be coming to see the restored gothic architecture.”

Nigel frowned, his fingers halting at the pastry. Mouth still full, Aiden made a whirring motion with his hand, encouraging.

“What do you mean, _anything fucking shown there?_ ”

“Any of my paintings.” Aiden took a gulp of hot coffee, eyes tearing as he swallowed. “That’s what I was going to ask you about, actually.”

So nonchalant that it was killing him, Nigel picked up the square of pecan and chocolate, fitting it into his mouth in one and licking the syrup from his fingers.

“Huh. Ask me what.”

“Ask you what you were doing with my painting, the night I ran into you.” Aiden sounded curious rather than accusatory, dusting crumbs from his hands to his lap. “I was pretty spooked at the time, so it didn’t exactly occur to me then. But you were right beside one of my paintings. The one with the _Loup-Garoux_.”

“The fucking _what?_ ”

Nigel could feel himself bristling, the unexpected revelation turning corners in his mind. And yet, somewhere beside his irritation that he hadn’t just made off with the damn thing when he had the chance… he was also, by some measure, impressed.

Which did absolutely nothing for his mood.

“ _Loup-Garoux._ The shapeshifters. People who can turn into wolves.”

“The people you thought were after you.” Nigel scoffed, immediately regretting the comment as he saw Aiden’s smile fall. The kid hadn’t said much about exactly who was after him. From what he _had_ told Nigel, it wasn’t a joking matter.

Pulling out his cigarettes, he offered the packet. When Aiden politely declined, Nigel snagged one between his lips, cupping his hand and lighter at the end of it. Exhaling, he cleared his throat.

“Hey. Sorry. What happened is your business.” A gesture of amendment, he flicked a hand toward the empty dessert plate. “You were right. They do a good pie.”

“You haven’t answered my question though,” Aiden ventured, a flicker of warmth returning to his tone. “Why were you so interested in my painting, that you broke into the cathedral at 2am to see it?”

Nigel took a long drag from the cigarette, weighing his options. Aiden certainly came across as the kind of guy who thought breaking into a cathedral at 2am _just_ to see a painting, might be perfectly reasonable.

“Wanted to… commission one. A painting. From you.”

Aiden blinked. Nigel cringed. It was possibly the dumbest fucking lie he had ever come up with, and he’d better start thinking of another one, because there was no fucking way Aiden was buying-

“Really? That’s great!” Aiden beamed, meanwhile making enthusiastic waving gestures at the waiter to indicate he could go another cappuccino. “You have an interest in European mythology then?”

“Not exactly,” Nigel faltered. “Just… appreciate your style.”

That part was true, at least. The wolf’s eyes had stayed with him long after they’d left the cathedral that night, reappearing when he walked through shadowed alleyways, or when he thought he was alone. Not much made Nigel feel haunted. It was unsettling. And slightly fascinating.

Filling his second coffee with just as much sugar as the first, Aiden raised it up to Nigel, some sort of playful toast. “Cheers, thank you. I’d be happy to tell you more about the legend behind the collection too, if you wanted.”

“I would like that.” Picking up his own discarded spoon, Nigel toyed with his empty espresso glass. “Think there’s a chance of you getting us another behind the scenes tour?”

Aiden glanced at the cathedral across the road, thoughtful. The place was a buzz of activity.

“I guess it does set the right mood for it,” he chuckled. “Don’t really know if I have enough sway to evict all the contractors though. The opening’s only in two days.”

Clenching his jaw, Nigel gave a casual nod. As if he didn’t already know.

“But I’ll see what I can swing. Artist privileges and all that.” Throwing down the rest of his coffee, Aiden swiped his mouth across his wrist, then checked his watch. “This evening’s the best bet. So, I’ll grab you from yours, say around ten?”

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “I think I can manage to find my way there myself. Somehow.”

Shuffling his empty cups and plate aside, Aiden mopped up a puddle of spilled milk from the table before getting to his feet. “Yep, I get that. But, in the event of me _not_ being able to wrangle some alone time in the exhibition space…” he tucked the chair back opposite Nigel, then slouched a hand against it, leaning coy. “…there are plenty of other cool places in Bucharest to see at night. Ones you wouldn’t know about, even if you lived here your whole life.”

The spoon slipping from Nigel’s fingers, he couldn’t do much but stare. Aiden thumbed a couple of notes for the coffees and cake out onto the table, already taking a wide step back before Nigel could tell him he had it covered.

“So, I’ll be round yours at ten, yeah?”

His tongue sticky in his mouth, Nigel managed a curt nod. He watched as Aiden disappeared between pedestrians, glancing over his shoulder only once. Nigel kept his eyes on him the whole time.

-


	3. Chapter 3

When Aiden hadn’t turned up by midnight, Nigel resigned himself to the fact that the artist probably had better things to do than skulk around the streets of Bucharest with the likes of him. Or maybe his questionable story about wanting to commission a painting finally rang true. It hadn’t been his finest moment, getting Aiden’s hopes up, when he damn well knew he couldn’t afford even a quarter of one.

Untangling himself from the shirt he'd chosen for the occasion, Nigel wrenched on a typically nonspecific black sweater instead, kicking his door closed on the way out. Pinching a cigarette between his lips, he jogged down the stairwell. Strangely, he wasn’t even that pissed about getting stood up. The kid deserved better.

Taking the fire exit to the sidewalk, a less savoury thought crept into his mind. Superstitions aside, Aiden had clearly fallen-in with the wrong crowd, and there was nothing to suggest his fear of being followed was unjustified. Inwardly cursing himself, Nigel realised he hadn’t even asked where Aiden was staying now. He doubted he’d have been stupid enough to return to his apartment. But hell. If he’d wanted to collect a few things, Nigel could have come with.

“Hey! ….HEY!”

Throwing a glare over his shoulder, Nigel saw nothing but shadow, the streetlamps round his place forever on the blink. When the silence was broken by a clatter of footsteps, he widened his stance a little.

“Nigel!”

He recognised the voice before Aiden came into view, all flushed and winded and apologetic.

“Nigel! Jeez. I saw you as I was coming in the front. You walk fast!”

Aiden shook back his hair, then huffed a breath toward his nose when it fell right back over his eyes. He looked more nervous than guilty, and Nigel couldn’t help wonder if his concerns were closer to the mark than he would’ve liked.

“…I’m so sorry I’m late. I mean, more than late, really-”

“S’fine,” Nigel muttered. He thought about adding ‘ _are you alright?’_ , but Aiden was clearly in one piece, and perfectly capable of telling Nigel himself if he wasn’t. He left it.

“Good news though,” Aiden shuffled a ring of keys from his pocket, throwing them up in one hand and catching them in the other. Nigel smirked.

“You stole the keys to the city?”

“I stole the keys to the cathedral,” Aiden grinned, nearly tripping over the gutter as Nigel made a sharp turn. Not beyond laughing at himself, Aiden added a brief wink. “And by stole, I mean asked nicely. And by cathedral… I mean Bucharest’s newest exhibition space, which, as of this evening, is all set up and ready for launch.”

Nigel’s pulse quickened in anticipation, a twinge of guilt following on his heels. “You mean…”

“The roof’s all patched up, light fixtures finished, workmen cleared out,” Aiden confirmed. “Well, they’ll be back in the morning to take down the last of the scaffolding. But tonight…” he scurried in front of Nigel to hoist himself over the cathedral fence. “…the place is all ours.”

Nigel didn’t have the heart to tell the kid that he already knew three easier and more discreet ways of entering the building.

As the door creaked back, Nigel blinked in surprise. Gutted and resurrected since his last visit, the inner chamber looked ever more harrowing, grimy edges now sharp and vicious, painted beasts peering at him from every puddle of dark. Nigel felt an involuntary shiver run down his spine.

“Spooky, huh?”

Nigel twitched toward his smaller companion, annoyed that he’d noted the reaction. “Something like that.”

Aiden seemed all the more pleased for it as he wove around the display, leading Nigel to where the largest and most formidable of his paintings was strung up at the altar. The one Nigel needed. The one that kind of scared him.

…The one he really liked.

“So what is it with you and these werewolves?” Nigel cleared his throat, not quite ready to take a swing at the French pronunciation. “And that inscription- _love is everything anyone ever said it is?_ ”

“ _Loup-garoux_ ” Aiden corrected, not letting him off the hook. Smile turning thoughtful, Aiden stared at the salivating jaw, then his painted message. He took a breath, words exhaling low.

“Firstly… they’re different.” He took a step closer to the canvas, stroking a finger over the textured brushstrokes. “Unlike a werewolf, a _loup-garoux_ can shift form at will. So… they have control over their monstrosity. Which makes it not a monstrosity at all. It makes them highly capable. A blessing, rather than a curse.”

“Still something to be hunted for.”

Nigel scowled at his shoes, biting his tongue to keep back any further ridiculous interjections. What the fuck did he know about folklore? Or art in general.

“Exactly.” Aiden didn’t seem to think the comment was odd at all. “And…something to be loved for.”

This time, Nigel held his stare.

“According to the legend, you don’t turn into a shapeshifter by getting bitten. You become _loup-garoux_ by shedding the blood of one.” Aiden creased his brow, a flash of pain. “Kill a _loup-garoux_ , and for the next one hundred and one days after, you can choose to change into a wolf. If you don’t, you stay human. But if you do, even just once… the ability stays with you forever.”

Nigel whipped around, a sudden deafening clatter from the opposite side of the cathedral causing him to throw an arm out over Aiden in alarm. In the deathly silence that followed, Nigel was pretty sure neither of them was breathing.

“I… think that might have just been some loose pipes falling off the scaffolding?” Aiden whispered, his strangled tone enough to imply every inch of his being was praying he was right. “Stay here, I’ll-”

“No.” Nigel snatched at Aiden’s shoulder, surprising himself with the impulsiveness of the gesture. With an apologetic frown, he let go. “I’m right behind you.”

“You don’t know what you might be up against” Aiden hissed. “You don’t know-”

From the very corner of the exhibition space, Aiden found himself interrupted by a small mewing sound. Incredulous, he raised an eyebrow.

“Great.” Aiden shook his head, a laugh half-caught in his throat. “I sign myself up for coffee runs all day as a trade-off for sneaking you in, and still get upstaged by a stray cat.”

“The cat did make a better entrance,” Nigel shrugged, one corner of his mouth pulling crooked.

If Aiden wanted to hit him, he had more restraint than Nigel did.

“Okay. So we’re agreed it’s a job I can handle myself then? Good. I’m just going to check nothing else got knocked over in the process.”

Not waiting for an answer, Aiden paced between a statue of a melting serpent and some sort of lion-stag, leaving Nigel alone.

It was the only chance he was going to get.

With a last swift glance in Aiden’s direction, Nigel had the switchblade open in his palm. Feeling the underside of the canvas with his fingertips, he stopped when he felt a small notch in the otherwise smooth wooden frame. With two rough flicks of the knife, he reopened the incision, prising out the small object nestled inside.

Squinting closer, Nigel realised he hadn’t a clue what he was holding. Heavy and metallic, he would have guessed a vial, if not for the faint scratchings winding from the base to the tip. It looked like writing, though in no language he recognised. He’d never ask the client. Better not to know.

Cautious, he tucked the object into the corner of his wallet, then shoved it deep inside his pocket. He still had the knife in his hand when he turned around, flinching when he saw Aiden standing right behind.

“Yikes, easy, just me.” Aiden held up both hands, giving a lopsided smile. His eyes fell to the blade.

“Hm. Sorry.” Nigel coughed, stuffing it out of sight. “Guess I’m still a little jumpy.”

“I’ll say. Looks like I’m starting to rub off on you, huh?”

Aiden’s tone came in jest, gently reassuring. Nigel felt even worse.

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing, believe me.”

“Uh-huh” Aiden measured, fishing around his jeans for a folded sheet of paper. “…Which reminds me. If you feel like a few more… not-so-bad-things… I brought you an invitation to the opening tomorrow.” He swept a hand around to indicate the exhibition. “Because after that, I’m out of Bucharest for good. Don’t worry, I can still send your painting from wherever I am though. I’ll cover the courier fee myself.”

“…right.” Nigel had almost managed to forget about his impending order. Swallowing, he tore his attention to the print-out.

“Is… that a yes?”

As Aiden hovered, Nigel felt himself on the verge of a smile.

“This says I’m your _plus-one_. You’re a featured artist at this event, and you’re only allowed to bring a plus- _one_?”

Aiden grinned right back at him. It seemed to light the whole fucking building, wolves and monsters and all.

“The glamorous life of an artist isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, Nigel...”

Nigel smirked. And then he frowned. Nothing ever was.

-


	4. Chapter 4

The exchange with the client had gone easy. They met at the inner-city transport interchange. The man got his weird engraved vial. Nigel got his money. All in all, it was probably one of the simplest jobs he had ever done. Well. The least messy.

And yet, the whole thing couldn’t have made him feel worse. He tried to tell himself it had nothing to do with Aiden. Nigel had been in his line of work long enough to know dealers of all sorts used the art trade to circumvent certain border security measures. There was a lot more to be bought and sold on the black market these days than stuff that went up your nose. Clearly, Aiden’s wolf painting had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_Or the right time_ , a quieter voice in his head muttered. _Or you never would have met._

Trudging back toward his flat, Nigel shook the thought free almost as soon as it surfaced. The kid would be gone after the exhibition. What did it fucking matter?

Trying to decide what takeout to shack-up with for dinner, Nigel felt his phone go off in his pocket. _Shit._ Once he was done with a client, he was done. If there was a problem with the item, it was his fucking problem.

Ready to throw the burner in the nearest canal, Nigel instead saw a local number on the screen. Clients never used landlines.

“Yes.”

It was Nigel’s standard greeting when he wasn’t sure he wanted to be greeted.

“ _Nigel,_ ” the tone was worn thin, shaky beneath forced nonchalance. “It’s Aiden. Hi. How are you? Sorry. You’re… probably wondering how I got this number.”

“I’m wondering if you’re alright.” Nigel thought he sounded far more accusatory than comforting, the sound of Aiden’s breathing coming in short gasps doing nothing to quench his concern.

“Nigel, I’m…I’m at the Marco Polo Youth Hostel,” Aiden babbled. “I’m okay… okay, I’m not okay. Do you remember the people I told you about? The ones I said were dangerous? They were here, asking about me today. The guy who runs this place sent them on their way. And then I changed rooms, you know, just to be on the safe side. I’m sorry, I guess it’s nothing to worry about, but-”

“Aiden-” Nigel skidded around the corner, the Youth Hostel only a few more blocks away. He was sprinting like there was no tomorrow, managing to keep his voice level at the same time. “There _may_ be nothing to worry about, but you sure as fuck don’t have to apologise. What room are you in now? Don’t open the door until you hear my voice on the other side of it.”

“Forty-seven,” Aiden whispered, “you’re… coming here?”

“Yes.” He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping Aiden’s next words wouldn’t be to ask him not to.

“Do you… maybe feel like maybe picking up something for us to eat on the way?”

Slowing at the neighbouring deli, Nigel gave an audible snort. If that was Aiden’s attempt to be funny, he appreciated it more than he was going to say.

-

With Romanian meatball soup and coffees in a plastic bag at his side, Nigel stopped at the hostel check-in to ask whether they kept security tapes. The answer was a resounding no. Sighing, he thumbed a few bills onto the counter, thankful it had been a good payday. A DVD with the last 24 hours of footage was immediately handed over. Nigel nodded his thanks, glad that was all it had taken. He was prepared for a fair deal more.

Taking the steps three at a time, Nigel paused to wipe the sweat from his upper lip before banging on number forty-seven. He sighed as Aiden opened the door.

“Did I not fucking say to wait until you heard my voice?”

“Nigel…”

Aiden slouched against the frame. He looked a lot calmer than he sounded in the minutes previous, which eased Nigel’s heartbeat a fraction too. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he had been so fucking worried. Aiden gave him the smallest flicker of his eyelid.

“…I could hear your voice when you were all the way downstairs. You aren’t exactly a subtle person, you know.”

Incredulous, Nigel simply stood there while Aiden slipped to a grin.

“Are you… coming in?”

With a roll of his eyes, Nigel didn’t wait for a second invitation, making sure the door was locked behind them before setting the take-out on the floorboards. The room was much like every other in Marco Polo. Rusty bedframes, peeling paint, electro and hand-drumming filtering through the walls. Like most places he had been in and out of his whole adolescence, it felt like home.

Aiden knelt in front of the offering, peeling back the lid of the closest bowl of soup and letting the steam wash over his face. He looked like he hadn’t slept for days.

“Aiden…” Nigel kept his voice gentle. “Your launch is tomorrow. Maybe this whole situation you’re in is going to blow over. But right now, I don’t fucking _know_ what situation you’re in, so it’s hard for me to say.”

Aiden nodded into his meatballs, wrapping more noodles around his fork than Nigel thought he could possibly fit into his mouth.

“It’s not that you have to tell me. Christ knows it’s not the kind of thing I’d want to fucking re-live.” By default, he knew he was admitting that he’d been there too. More than once. And more than anything… he knew first hand, that even once was too many.

“But the thing is, most people don’t get followed, or caught, or stabbed, or whatever else you’ve got every right to be afraid of, because they’re stupid, or don’t take precautions.” Nigel’s fingers itched for a cigarette, but he didn’t think it would be fair to fuck up Aiden’s room when the kid probably had no intention of leaving it.

“A lot of the time, it just comes down to bad luck. Wrong street, wrong friend, wrong deal. And it sounds to me like you’re an _all-of-the-above_. So, I know it’s not pleasant dinner-time chat…” he gave a weak grin toward the soup, his bowl nudging up against Aiden’s empty one. “…but have you ever considered whether there might be a way to take these people down a notch? Before your bad luck catches up to you?”

Aiden frowned, eyes watering as he gathered up some of the napkins. To give him credit, he’d polished off the whole meal without a word of complaint on the spice. Nigel only noticed Aiden had taken the one with double chilli by the time he was almost done.

“Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”

Stirring his own broth, Nigel raised an eyebrow. He’d assumed the answer was going to be no. But Aiden could obviously take care of himself to some degree, if he’d already lasted this long. Bucharest wasn’t a friendly city, once you got offside of it.

Aiden scrubbed both hands over his face, a small crease between his brows.

“I’ll be honest. I trust you, Nigel. I don’t think _you’ve_ been completely honest, up until this point, but you meet enough people when you travel as much as me, to get a sense of what’s what. And I trust you.”

Nigel felt the soup slide down his throat, catching over a small lump which he didn’t want to be there. He made no effort to deny what Aiden had suggested was true.

“And you’re right. I don’t want to tell you about the man I killed. But it’s not because I don’t want to relive the moment. I mean, I don’t… but that’s not the reason. I don’t want to tell you, because right now, you’re the only friend I have. And that’s going to come to an end, the second I open my mouth, because you’re not going to believe a word I say.”

Aiden looked very small then, legs tucked up to his chest. Slowly, Nigel pushed his bowl aside. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

“Try me.”

When the first tear shuddered down Aiden’s cheek, Nigel felt a ruthless twist in his stomach. He’d never been any fucking good at knowing what to say when it mattered. And even if he did string something half-decent together, he doubted he’d be much use at spitting it out. His own throat was squeezed shut just from looking at Aiden. Swallowing, Nigel opened his arms a fraction, not really sure what he expected to come of it. Nor what he wanted to.

Aiden didn’t second-guess it. With an unsteady shuffle, he curled up to Nigel’s chest. Nigel closed both arms around him, gently rubbing between his shoulder blades every time Aiden flinched.

“You know…” Aiden sniffled into his wrist, cringing at the sound. “…for an _incredibly_ _un-subtle_ _person_ … you give pretty good hugs.”

Nigel chuckled, reaching a hand to grab Aiden the last of the spare napkins.

“Well.” He muttered, trying not to sound too pleased. “This might be the first time.”

Aiden gave a husky laugh, then turned aside to blow his nose. When he was done, Nigel rummaged through the last of his carry bags to find his long black and Aiden’s cappuccino.

“I already added the sugar,” Nigel ventured, handing over the cup. Aiden took a tentative sip, then, grateful, a bigger one.

“Now…” Nigel crossed his legs, trying to make himself seem a bit less intimidating. It wasn’t often he smiled, ever rarer that he actually meant it. “…try me.”

-


	5. Chapter 5

“It started with a girl.”

Nigel resisted the urge to comment, taking a swallow of bitter coffee instead. It always fucking started with a girl.

“We went on a couple of dates. I don’t know. I liked the chase.”

Nigel nodded. That didn’t exactly take much figuring out.

“And I’m not put-off by… issues. People who have a past. Things like that. Rafe didn’t see it that way.”

“Who’s Rafe?” Nigel interjected, seeing Aiden’s eyes glassing-over.

“Her cousin. The guy I killed.”

Nigel pinned his mouth to a frown, wanting to make sure he had it straight. “So, you killed him for love?”

When Aiden shook his head in horror, Nigel held up both hands, appeasing. “Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”

Snuffling at the brim of his cappuccino, Aiden’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he tried not to smile. “S’alright. I’m probably skipping a few details here, because… you know.”

Nigel didn’t know. He very much wanted to know.

“I killed him, because he told me to get out of town. Her family didn’t want her seeing me anymore. I don’t buy into those sort of threats, and let him know that wasn’t happening. He attacked me. I…”

Aiden grimaced down at his hands, only then noticing he’d been crushing the empty styrofoam cup rather aggressively whilst he’d been talking.

“It was self-defence,” Nigel murmured, placing his own cup carefully out of Aiden’s reach. “Is that what you think I won’t believe? You think it seems more plausible that you just knocked someone off to get them out of the way?”

“No…” Aiden coughed, reaching a hand inside his shirt collar to pull out a strange sun-shaped pendant. “When I killed him, he had taken the form of a wolf. He was at my throat, and I used this piece of silver to push him back. Silver burns them. It’s like poison- once it touches them, it gets into their bloodstream. He… didn’t get up.”

If Nigel didn’t know what to say when Aiden had been crying, he sure as fuck didn’t know what to say now. Instead, he got to his feet.

“Please don’t go!” Aiden jammed the necklace back inside his shirt, distraught. “It’s the rest of his pack that are after me now! I know it sounds crazy, but I can prove it!”

“Hey, hey-” Nigel jerked his chin toward the flimsy venetian blinds at the window, unhooking the cord and letting them fall to the floor. Now that dark had fallen, he didn’t want anyone looking in on them, however unlikely. “-I’m not going anywhere.”

In truth, the only thing that _f_ e _lt_ crazy about the whole story, was that it didn’t _sound_ crazy at all. Aiden wasn’t delusional. Nigel knew it was possible for the human brain to fabricate all sorts of details after a traumatising situation, to help the victim better cope. It didn’t change the fact that Aiden was no cold-blooded killer, however he thought the fight went down.

“Thank you,” Aiden whispered, reaching for Nigel’s hand as he sat back down, gripping like he’d never let go. Nigel wasn’t exactly sure Aiden was aware he was doing it. He gave a soft squeeze back, just in case.

“So, as I said, I can prove it.”

“Okay,” Nigel nodded. Now that Aiden had shared what was weighing on his mind, some of the tension seemed to have drained from the rest of his body, and Nigel wondered if he might do better after a solid night’s rest.

“Because I shed the blood of a _loup-garoux._ So now, if I figure out how to harness the ability… according to the legend, I’ll be able to change into a wolf too.”

“But if you do, you’ll be _loup-garoux_ forever.”

Nigel could have kicked himself. He was no doctor, but he was pretty sure Aiden needed stability to recover from the experience, rather than more fantasy. Not used to blurting things out without thinking, Nigel decided maybe _he_ was the one who needed a good night’s sleep.

“I know.” Aiden murmured, crestfallen. “And I’m not sure if I want to be. It’s kind of a lot to process at once, you know?”

Nigel nodded. Aiden looked near-woozy with relief, stifling a yawn behind his hand as Nigel popped his uneaten soup into the tiny bar fridge. Either the Marco Polo was really raising its standards, or Aiden was shelling out a decent rate for appliances that actually worked.

“You want me to stay while you sleep?”

Dragging himself up onto the mattress, Aiden kicked off his shoes, not bothering to shift the rest of his clothes. Exhausted as he was, he still managed a maddeningly coy smile.

“It’s a bit creepy having somebody watching you sleep, don’t you think?”

Nigel snorted, wedging himself into the unforeseeably stiff desk chair at the opposite end of the room. “Won’t be watching you sleep, darling. I’ll be watching the fucking door.”

Aiden laughed, rolling his eyes. “Ugh. Nigel. What I mean is…” he glanced at the empty spot beside him “…you may as well sleep too. Otherwise you’ll be just as much of a wreck as me. If anyone tries to break in, I think between the two of us, we’ll hear them.”

Well. He was sounding less paranoid now at least. That wasn’t a bad thing.

“Don’t worry, I don’t bite,” Aiden smirked, the necklace slipping from his shirt as he tried to get comfortable. “Well, not _yet_.”

Despite it all, Nigel found himself chuckling.

“So, do you want to?” Aiden flopped down on his stomach, all fidgety above the blankets. “Last chance, or I’ll be out like a light before you lie down.”

“If I lie down.”

Aiden pulled a face. “I’m not _that bad_ , am I?”

The kid was no quitter, Nigel would give him that. Slowly, he got to his feet.

“…If it’ll give me a fucking break from this thing you call your sense of humour…”

Aiden laughed, looking more delighted than Nigel expected. It was slightly touching, after seeing him so upset. Far more used to causing the latter than the former, Nigel wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

“Shoes off.”

“Huh?” Nigel blinked, realising his mind had wandered a little further than his shoes.

Aiden was staring at Nigel’s oxfords, then at the bedspread. Nigel didn’t think it was the right moment to tell him, he knew first-hand that the blankets at Marco Polo had seen far worse. He acquiesced, then eased himself onto the mattress. Squeaky and lumpy, he wasn’t sure if it was much better than the chair. Aiden nudged himself closer. Nigel pretended not to notice.

“Ever been in bed with a guy before?”

Nigel fixed his gaze resolutely at the ceiling, the tiny cracks filtering toward the naked light bulb. As much as the question made him feel like he’d never dropped-out of high-school, there was a certain tact behind it too.

“Thought you were going to sleep,” he muttered.

“I could use a few more grumpy comebacks, just to make sure I’m _extra_ tired.”

Nigel drew a low breath. His packet of cigarettes was squashed under his hip, his belt digging into the small of his back. The room suddenly felt very hot, even though he was well used to the Romanian summer. He shook the smokes out into his hand and made for the front door.

“Hey-” Aiden’s smile fell. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“-You didn’t do anything,” Nigel grunted, fishing out his lighter. “Nicotine fix. Back in a sec.”

As he slumped against the outside window, breath exhaled white toward the sky, Nigel half found himself wishing Aiden would come out and join him. But then he’d have to answer the question about lying next to fucking guys. And, by implication… thinking about lying next to fucking guys. He drew hard on the cigarette, tacky vapour burning warm at the back of his throat. ‘No’ just didn’t seem to cut it.

Nigel crushed the last dregs of the smouldering cherry against the window frame, peeking back inside. Aiden lay face-down in the very middle of the mattress, arms and legs sprawled across the side where Nigel had been.

Nigel kept the handle turned as he eased the door closed, muffling the click as he turned the lock back in place. Aiden gave a blurry groan, no closer to waking up.

Socks padding across the threadbare floorboards, he waited until Aiden had rearranged himself of his own accord before taking up what was left of the mattress. Turning, he allowed himself a glance at Aiden, grinning as he realised the kid could probably rival him for inelegant habits, mouth all open, pillow already dampened with drool. Nigel closed his eyes. He did say he wasn’t going to watch, after all.

It wasn’t till he was half asleep himself that Nigel felt Aiden give an involuntary jerk, a coarse growl escaping his throat as he tucked his head against Nigel’s shoulder. Drowsy, Nigel reached a hand to clumsily pat him on the back, fingers fumbling through the dark curls as Aiden clawed in tighter.

“ _Shh-sh-_ ” Nigel heard himself mumble. “-I’m here.”

-


	6. Chapter 6

When Nigel woke up, Aiden was gone.

_Fuck._

Bleary, Nigel shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes, shins gouging into the side table as he leapt off the bed. _Fuck fuck fuck._ It wasn’t until he saw the pen and paper that had bounced to the floor that his pulse stopped squeezing at his windpipe.

_Gone to do some last minute setup for the launch. Left you a disposable toothbrush in the bathroom. And a coke. That’s about all they stock in the vending machines here. See you tonight! -A_

In the corner of the note, Aiden had gifted a rather unflattering sketch of what Nigel supposed he looked like sleeping. Clicking his tongue at the back of his teeth, he relented to a crooked smile. Well. The kid got his hair right, at least.

Quickly scouring his mouth with the brush, Nigel took a gulp of soft drink straight after, squinting as he regretted his order of operations. In truth, he was glad to be alone. What Nigel needed to do next wasn’t exactly something he wanted Aiden to see.

Unhooking his jacket from the back of the chair, Nigel’s fingers brushed the plastic DVD case, the security footage he had so easily bartered for. Silently praying that the television in the room worked better than it looked, Nigel double-checked his phone for the time Aiden had called him yesterday. 6:05pm. Holding his breath, he pressed play.

The screen flickered to life.

Exhaling a sigh of relief, Nigel skipped to the timestamp just before Aiden’s call. Shuffling forward on the mattress, he leant into the grainy lowlight, hitting the pause button as four young men approached the counter. There was no mistaking it. Nigel knew assholes looking for trouble when he saw them. These assholes were looking for trouble. And they were looking for Aiden.

Rewinding the footage, Nigel watched until he could’ve recognised any of them from a glance. Surprisingly, he gleaned no insight to any criminal affiliations from their manner alone, and Nigel knew a lot of people in Bucharest. Including the people who didn’t want to be known.

He sculled the rest of the drink. It didn’t matter. They wanted Aiden. Aiden’s art exhibition was in a few hours. Shrugging his jacket over his shoulders, Nigel made sure the switchblade was still in the pocket of his jeans.

They would come to him.

-

“You made it!”

Mid-way through a conversation with several interested buyers, Aiden had yelped across the crowded chamber, champagne sloshing onto his suit sleeve as he gave an enthusiastic wave.

“You needn’t sound so fucking _surprised_.”

The drawl was squashed under the string quartet playing live for the occasion, but Aiden didn’t miss Nigel’s wholehearted attempt not to smile. Excusing himself from the group, the artist hastily navigated the crowd, distributing apologies as he bumped into almost every tuxedo-clad patron on-route. Nigel signalled one of the waiters carrying a complimentary drinks tray. He was going to need more than one.

Seeing Nigel reaching for a beer, Aiden snatched up two flutes of champagne instead, shoving one into Nigel’s outstretched hand before he could get a word-in. Raising his own glass, Aiden took a deep breath, then promptly forgot the toast he had in mind.

 “You… clean up good,” he managed, glancing over Nigel’s tailored black shirt.

Nigel snorted, refusing to acknowledge the statement with anything more than a raised eyebrow. Aiden drank to it regardless, hovering a grin over the brimming liquor.

If Nigel were honest with himself, Aiden didn’t look too awful either. He’d chosen a deep satin-blue shirt for the occasion, swapping ripped cargos and sneakers for slacks and oxfords. He’d even brushed his hair. Strangely, Nigel wouldn’t have minded messing it up again, given the choice.

“Evening going to plan, so far?” Keeping his face resolutely disinterested, Nigel took the scope of the room. If they were going to be graced with any unwanted company, said persons had yet to show.

“Yeah. I think so.” Tipping his glass back, Aiden slurped the champagne in one, turning aside to hiccup against the back of his hand. “There are bids on all of the works except the centrepiece.”

His stare crossing to where Aiden nodded, Nigel saw the familiar snarling wolf, no less menacing in the animated surrounds. A small crowd was gathered in front, milling for Aiden’s attention.

“Well. Might help if you kept with the polite chit-chat a bit longer, rather than ditching your admirers for me first chance.”

Swaying a few backward steps, Aiden gave a lopsided salute. “Spoken like a true gentleman. But don’t think you can get rid of me that easy-” he added a wink, not before another hiccup. “-I’ll be back.”

Despite his best efforts, the corner of Nigel’s mouth tugged to a smile. “I’m fucking counting on it.”

Once Aiden was immersed in conversation, Nigel decided it was time for a lap around the space. Swishing the now-warm champagne at the bottom of the flute, he traced the perimeter, taking care to look like he was observing the various sculptures and installations on the way.

Which was when Nigel saw him.

The very same client to whom he’d delivered the silver vial not forty-eight hours past. His inhale tangled in his chest. He’d stopped believing in coincidences a long time ago.

A younger man approached. “ _Gabriel. Finally found you_ -”

Nose pointed into his drink, Nigel kept out of sight behind the statue of the melting serpent, every thread of his attention wound toward the exchange.

“- _Finn_.” The older man responded. “ _Not here_.”

As the footsteps moved away, Nigel caught a glimpse of their departing shadows. Gabriel wasn’t the name the client had given him, but that was to be expected. Finn was one of the youths he had seen on the security camera footage. Cursing under his breath, Nigel saw them slip outside via the side door. He couldn’t very well follow undetected. The outskirts of the cathedral were deserted.

Instead, Nigel turned heel, striding back to the wolf painting with no small degree of haste. Better Aiden knew his special guests had arrived, just until Nigel figured out how to corner them. It wasn’t until Nigel was standing right below the golden eyes, that he realised Aiden was no longer anywhere in sight.

Throat pinching in dread, Nigel strode up to the nearest patron. “Have you seen the artist who painted this? I need to talk to him.”

The man fluttered a laugh. “You’ll have to get in line. He just left with three other buyers, all of whom seemed _very_ keen on it.”

Not bothering to thank him, Nigel wheeled around, charging toward the side exit without care for whoever was in his way. If Aiden had been made to leave the venue, Nigel was certain Gabriel had a hand in it. And while Nigel didn’t yet know the where, how or why… he sure as fuck knew how to make people start telling him.

Nigel wrenched back the door. The first thing he saw on stepping out of the cathedral was a bright full moon.

The second thing was darkness, as the whole of the earth collided with the back of his head.

-

Nigel opened his eyes. Blood dripped warm from his forehead, mingling with the raindrops, sliding down his jaw. He was in some sort of forest clearing, knees dug muddy into the soil. His wrists ached behind his back, the rope scoring at his skin.

Gabriel was there. The four ratty young men were there.

…And Aiden was there.

“ _Nigel,_ ” Aiden’s voice was torn and bruised. In a burst of anger, he tried to free himself from his assailants, only to find his arms wrought further up his spine in retribution. “You… went after them?”

 “Yes.” Nigel spat on the ground, saliva streaked red.

“Why?” The kid sounded almost disbelieving, some mumble through a dream.

“Because it’s people like you,” from the corner of his vision, Nigel saw Gabriel approaching. “Who make people like me…”

The blow to his head still rushing between his ears, Nigel gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain conscious. Gabriel knelt beside him, loosening his bonds. Palms grazing limp across the ground, Nigel could barely support himself, let alone fight.

“…do really, _really_ stupid things.”

Face curved toward the night above, Gabriel was laughing, moonlight shining wet on his hair. “Probably the most honest thing he’s ever told you, Aiden.”

With a low, guttural sound, Aiden thrashed against the grip on his arms with renewed vigour, inspiring the circle to pin him face down in the dirt.

Only an arm’s length from Nigel’s lap, Aiden twisted to look up at him, eyes speckled grey and amber. “Use the silver,” he hissed. “The blade. The one you had when we met-”

“Silver won’t help either of you now,” Gabriel paced around the clearing, smiling up at the stars. Lightning flashed pale across the horizon, rain licking over his snarl. “Not now that we have the vaccine. You have Nigel to thank for that.”

As if to emphasise the point, one of the younger men gave Aiden a sharp kick in the stomach. Coughing, Aiden sank his face back into the muddied ground.

“That’s bullshit,” Nigel managed. Gabriel was blurring in and out of focus, the silhouetted trees bleeding black against the clouds.

“Is it?” Gabriel sounded curious. Fingers sweeping beneath his collar, he pulled free an object hung on a leather band. Nigel didn’t need to get any closer to know what it was. Bile spiked at his throat. Gabriel swung the vial back and forth, the younger men howling at it in glee.

“There are _very_ hard to obtain these days, Aiden. A token from the tombs of the _Saint-Germain-des-Prés_ , where the first _loup-garoux_ once sheltered from their ancient hunters.” Gabriel jerked his chin toward Nigel. “-Men.”

Seeing Aiden’s face creasing in confusion, Nigel felt a welt of fury uncoil within his veins. In a single, sudden movement, he lunged toward the man who had kicked Aiden, switchblade open in his palm before the youth had even registered the intent.

The knife plunged into the man’s inner thigh, a screech of agony following as he clutched wildly at the wound, blood soaking fast over trembling palms. Unfolding at the artery, he shivered into a puddle on the ground, gagging and begging his accomplice for help. Terrified, the man Nigel recognised as Finn shook his head, releasing Aiden and backing away toward the woods.

“Stay right there.” Gabriel barked, Finn stilled by the biting change of tone.

The injured man was now whimpering, tongue lolling from his mouth as he clawed a bloodied hand toward his family. Gabriel merely dipped his head to the side, fascinated.

“You see how he doesn’t die?” The pack leader spread an arm toward the shaking figure. “You see how his blood isn’t poisoned? That blade was silver. He may not be hunting with us tonight. But he’ll survive, no antidote required.”

The rain was slowing. Finn’s mouth snaked to a grin. Aiden’s crumpled to desperation.

“…Why?”

“The vaccine,” Gabriel repeated, relishing the word. “I had a friend in Paris conceal it in one of your artworks, Aiden. Objects such as this are rare enough to not have a price on the black market. They’re bought and sold in blood. Which clearly, I have now paid. For who’d have known you’d become so attached to one of my kin in the meantime. And kill another.”

Aiden cringed. Nigel bristled.

“Or that the petty criminal I’d hired to extract the object- the only one stupid enough not to know what it might be worth- would end up discovering he now wants to be a hero. Well. No matter.”

Gently raising the vial, Gabriel kissed it to his lips. The three remaining youths slunk behind him, peeling away their outer clothing, slathering up at the moon.

“-We’ll give him a hero’s farewell.”

Staggering forward, Nigel tried to keep his senses tuned to everything at once. But all he could focus on was Aiden. These people were crazy. Bloodthirsty, deranged, and utterly insane. Yet somehow, he had helped them.

“I’m sorry, Aiden” he whispered. “I’m so, so fucking sorry.”

For a moment, he didn’t think Aiden heard him. There was a flurry of movement at his side, too quick to catch. Nigel spun around, disorientated. Had the kid gotten away?

“You have a chance to run, of course…”

Nigel turned back to Gabriel, expecting to see hate. That cold, vacuous sort of hate that came just before revenge. And didn’t disappear after.

Instead, something besides suffering had lit within the man’s soul. Something closer to fear. Or wonder. Or both.

Nigel could have sworn Gabriel looked almost euphoric as he ran forward, leaping into the air, both arms stretched madly toward him. He never hit the ground. From the dark of the forest, a speckled wolf sailed past, jaw affixing around the pack leader’s throat mid-air, ripping him apart.

Blood and moonlight splattered across Nigel’s vision. The last thing he remembered were the eyes, grey and amber, pooling over him. They looked like the eyes of a man.

-


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter! ♥ Thank you so much to everyone who read this, I know this is a small ship and I’m not used to writing longer (ish) stories, so your comments and kudos have all made me really happy! *^^* Also, there is a bit of nsfw content in this part, which I know is not my usual style, so I hope that is okay for everyone! <3 <3

Whether Nigel regained consciousness several times that night, or simply remembered fractured segments of one long nightmare, he could never say. At one point, all he could see were circling wolves, snapping and crooning at the body of their fallen leader. And then there was the image of Aiden, soaked and human, taking the vial from Gabriel’s neck and hanging it around his own. Nigel had tried to break free from the haze of pain at that point, crawling forward to help him, knowing the wolves would surely pounce while Aiden was vulnerable. The vision had shimmered and whispered away from him, his face collapsing into the murky ground, exhale spluttering bubbles at his lips.

There had been hands, curving around his arms and shoulders, careful but firm. Someone was helping him up. No… more than one. Nigel could feel himself shaking, nauseous and worse every time his body bounced between them. He moaned for Aiden, clutching where his sight no longer reached. Whether his fist gripped fur or fabric seemed to depend only on how tight he held. Nigel cursed, his grasp slipping away.

When dawn pierced the veil of his eyelids, Nigel felt he could finally keep them open, the dull thudding at the back of his skull numbed by cool water. Blinking uneven, it took him a moment to realise he wasn’t lying in a puddle on the forest floor, but on a bag of frozen peas. The clearing and woods had been replaced with the tiles and railing of the balcony at his flat. And instead of a pack of braying wolves, it was just Aiden sitting in front of him.

“You’re okay…” Nigel mumbled, weak. And then, “…I think I need a few painkillers.”

“You’ve already had some. More than a few, actually.” Aiden’s tone came husky, filled with more affection than Nigel thought he’d earned. Aiden reached his hands below Nigel’s arms, helping him sit upright against the glass of the balcony door. “I had a call-out doctor visit a few hours ago. You can’t have any more until midday.”

A _call-out doctor_. Nigel wasn’t aware such a service existed in Bucharest.

“Need my fuckin’ smokes then.”

With a fond smirk, Aiden retrieved the packet, wholly prepared for such a request. Flipping back the lid, he poured what remained of the cigarettes beside his lap, a soggy bundle of paper and tobacco. Nigel groaned. Aiden laughed.

“How about this, instead.”

Gently, Aiden reached a hand to Nigel’s jaw, pushing back the mess of hair clinging across his cheekbones. Eyes sparkling and sure, he leaned to Nigel’s mouth, soft and full and warm. Eyes flickering shut, Nigel stumbled a sound, lips parting as he felt Aiden’s tongue against his own. If he felt lightheaded before…

Nigel opened his eyes.

Cupping both hands to Aiden’s cheeks, he raked his fingers through the damp curls, pulling himself deeper into the embrace. Nigel let his forehead touch the younger man’s, inhale crumpled against Aiden’s cheek. His jaw scraped rough as he nudged his nose along the smoother slope of Aiden’s, catching the scent of leaves and dirt and sweat. And something else. In a rush, the wolf cut through Nigel’s vision. He pulled back, gaping and breathless.

“You-”

“Don’t freak out, don’t freak out-” Aiden snatched away his hands, “-kissed you, yes, and we can totally pretend it never happened.”

The flurry of words took a moment to sink in, before Nigel slowly twitched his mouth up at the corners, eyes softening. Glancing where Aiden was fidgeting his palms into his lap, Nigel reached his own to still them, weaving his fingers between the smaller knuckles.

“I was going to say, _turned into a wolf._ ”

With a wry smirk, Nigel brushed the inside of his thumb against Aiden’s. It was only once, and the lightest of touches… but he intended it to be reassuring, and very much hoped that it was.

“Oh. Well. We can pretend that never happened too, if you want. Kind of a lot to deal with…”

“Aiden-” Nigel scraped a breath “-I don’t want to pretend any of it didn’t happen.”

The taste of Aiden’s spit still sweet on his lower lip, Nigel raised Aiden’s hand to his mouth, grazing a kiss to the centre of his palm. It was a coarse gesture, unpractised and inelegant. Aiden swallowed, flushed with pleasure, then squeezed Nigel’s hand tight enough to make him laugh. Finding the nape of Aiden’s neck, Nigel drew him in, gently at first, then harder as he heard the artist moan; a purring hum resonating deep in his chest.

Leaning forward, Nigel’s lips ran flush against Aiden’s artery, exhale waning supple at his collarbone. Aiden squirmed and shivered, pliable beneath his touch. Snagging back his upper lip, Nigel let his teeth catch lightly over the pale skin too, arching his body while Aiden puddled in his grasp. Muscles clenched and trembling, Aiden sank his spine against the concrete floor, inhale hitching as Nigel reared over him, eyes meeting between.

Knees straddled to either side of Aiden’s hips, Nigel felt his calves press the outside of the man’s thighs. Aiden curled and splayed his toes in turn, each snarl of Nigel’s mouth prickling over his skin, his veins throbbing with delight. Nigel bit and kissed Aiden’s throat raw, small gasps urging at his ear, Aiden’s hands toying and vicious in turn, grabbing at his chest and shoulder blades, scratching and clutching without restraint.

Nigel didn’t want restraint. He wanted Aiden. He wanted every bit of him.

Finding the inside of Aiden’s wrist, Nigel traced his mouth along the line of his pulse, following the ridges of muscle. Eyelids barely slitted apart, Aiden’s nose traced the hollow of Nigel’s cheek, fingers slackened at the man’s collar. Nigel stretched low over his torso, ripping away the buttons to reveal silky flesh. Aiden’s ribcage heaved in the milky sunlight, his eyes wet and bright.

Nigel scratched his jaw to the smooth abdomen, the breach of hair below Aiden’s belly button trailing light against his rougher features. Each time Aiden tried to steady or brace himself, bending his knees or gritting his heels on the tiles, Nigel would feel his balance slip out underneath, once more lithe and malleable and utterly gorgeous.

“What do you want me to do, darling?”

Aiden licked a coy smile across his lower lip, already reaching for Nigel’s belt buckle. As the ruined suit trousers lay wasted at his side, Nigel sucked a harsh breath as Aiden’s hand found the press of his cock, fingertips tracing over his briefs until Nigel felt them tented and damp. He clenched his teeth as the hand slipped beneath the elastic waistband, gripping firm, slowly rutting over the whole of his length. Aiden’s fingers came away clear and sticky. He touched a thumb to Nigel’s mouth. Nigel closed his teeth over the knuckle, tongue sliding over the gauzy warmth. Aiden reached his other hand to Nigel’s spine, coiling himself up to meet his lips.

“…Everything.”

Nigel watched as Aiden unfastened his trousers, cock peeking and bouncing from his briefs as they straggled to his ankles. Swollen and leaking, Nigel wrapped his body over the younger man’s, positioning his mouth to Aiden’s slit. Glancing his tongue over the delicate fold of skin tucked back from the ridge, Nigel hadn’t the first fucking clue how to even start, only that he wanted to. That was enough.

Conscious of his already-sharp teeth, Nigel closed his lips around the blush of Aiden’s head, trying to find the right angle. As he pulled down and up to the tip, Nigel felt the muscle contract, Aiden’s stomach giving a little twitch in symphony. Nigel felt his own cock ache in response, spurred on by Aiden’s strangled gulps and murmurs. As Aiden gave a particularly violent shudder, Nigel sucked low and deep into his throat, pace unbroken until he pushed an inch too far, eyes watering as he tried not to cough in reflex.

“Here, here-” Aiden eased himself out, shuffling down to pull him into a kiss.

“-Sorry.” Nigel managed, still half-choking.

“Are you kidding?” Aiden patted him on the back, barely able to talk himself. “Not even half done and I’m already wishing we had those cigarettes after all!”

Curving to a smirk, Nigel wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Darling…” he purred, chuckling as Aiden beamed at the term. “We’re at my _fucking_ apartment. About the only thing you can be fucking _sure_ I fucking have.”

Grinning, Aiden shook his head, twisting his frame upright while Nigel thrust his back against the wall. Taking Nigel’s hand, Aiden sucked two fingers over his tongue, scraping and warm. Steering the hand behind him, he slowly traced his entrance. Nigel felt his mouth slip ajar. Beneath the fluid and his fumbling, Aiden felt velvety; skin puckered to a tight coil, quivering at every glide of his fingertips. The tiny movements quickened Nigel’s heartbeat, made him clumsy, touches shaky and unsure.

Aiden was sure. Gently guiding, he steered Nigel’s first and middle finger inside him, exhaling to relax into the position. Hand caressing the back of Nigel’s, he rocked slowly back and forth, clenching and unclenching. He felt tight, heated and throbbing at each glide. Nigel pulled out too quickly, making Aiden laugh in surprise.

Nigel winced, apologetic. Aiden bit his lip, ravenous. Straddling Nigel’s lap, Aiden’s cock nudged against his abdomen, a glistening web caught in between. Arching up on his knees, Aiden gripped Nigel’s own cock at the base, pressing the head at his opening as he lowered himself.

Nigel breathed out. Aiden breathed in. Eyelids biting over a scrape of tears, Nigel roiled to meet him, burning hot against the thinning dawn. He raised both hands to Aiden’s back, fingers trickling over the jutting shoulder blades. Aiden reared and stilled, sunlight filtering on his crooked smile. Nigel shuddered unabandoned, coarse and consumed.

Arms stretched and muscles contracting, Aiden plunged to the length of Nigel’s cock, air sucked between his teeth, moans wrestled against Nigel’s chest. Sweat flickering at Nigel’s upper lip, the ruck between his brows deepened, nostrils flickering and resonating back to static. Lips parted with every hissed exhale, Nigel’s abdomen twitched with the exertion, the trembling force of it echoing through the grip of his legs.

“ _Fucking gorgeous_ Aiden…”

Catching him on the cusp of the words, Aiden reached for Nigel’s face, sweat-drenched hair lashed between his fingers. Lips bruising against Nigel’s mouth, Aiden pulled until their breath rendered in shallow gasps, until Nigel found himself fighting some exquisite destruction.

With an acute snarl, he surged against Aiden, fingertips digging harsh into his back. Aiden kissed him, vicious and breakneck, heady and outdone as Nigel held taut. Face firmly wedged against Aiden’s cheek, Nigel felt a splatter of warmth as Aiden came against his stomach, clinging and shivering into his arms. His own shout followed hazardously close behind, strangled in his windpipe, fumbled into Aiden’s neck. He squeezed into the younger man, dripping and undone.

Leaning deep against him, Aiden let his heartbeat slow to the rise and fall of Nigel’s ribcage, kissing firm at each turn of Nigel’s cheeks. They lay until their pulse fell into rhythm, until the world pooled to one.

“Hey…” Aiden nudged the side of his nose. “I have something for you.”

Gently, he eased himself to his upright, reaching for Nigel’s palms with both hands. Nigel didn’t move. Aiden reached until Nigel finally held on, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

Aiden led him just inside the balcony, pausing at the familiar shape leaning up against the glass. It would be the second time Nigel found himself stilled in wonder. The first time he knew what it all meant.

“Your painting?” The words faded to a whisper. “You didn’t sell it?”

“Kind of tricky, whilst we were tied up in the woods,” Aiden laughed, arm curving fond round Nigel’s waist. “And… I’m kind of glad.”

“That we were tried up in the woods?” Nigel tried a watery smile.

“Totally.” Aiden grinned. “No, that I got to keep one. Because, what with me being a _loup-garoux_ now and all, who knows when you’ll be able to pin me down for that commission you’re after.”

Nigel smirked.

Then, his face fell as the weight of it quickly caught up.

“So, you’re still leaving Bucharest?” Nigel didn’t mean it to sound so blunt. But that had been Aiden’s plan all along. And, poetic as it was, the painting looked very much to him like a parting gift. It fucking broke his heart. “Half the pack got away. And from what I saw, fucking unlikely they’ll be happy to leave it at that.”

“No,” Aiden drew him in. “…I’m not leaving Bucharest.”

Nigel couldn’t bring himself to ask the next question. Aiden answered it anyway.

“Because I’m not happy to leave it at that either.”

Standing on tiptoe, he leant their foreheads together. Nigel held on tight, vision blurring between Aiden and the painting, the man and the wolf.

Love was everything anyone ever said it was.

-


End file.
